Dirty Laundry

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to another episode of Beneath the Surface. I am your host, Aaron Moore. Tonight we’ve got a special treat for you. It’s no secret how Dread City’s debt crisis has ravaged our poor and working class population. Many of our citizens are losing their homes, their jobs, and in many cases, their families due to not being able to pay their debts on time. Here to expose the secrets of this little known debt industry is a man who wishes to be known by the pseudonym Heath Riggs. Heath, welcome to the show.”

“Good to be here, Aaron.”

Heath parked his ass at a dimly lit studio table across from his host, while live cameras filmed the interview from every angle behind the shadows. Aaron Moore clearly enjoyed the spotlight as evidenced by the fancy gray suit and tie he wore just for this occasion. Heath Riggs, on the other hand, thrived in anonymity, his black leather jacket, sunglasses, and hood covering everything but his black face driving the point home. While Aaron leaned his body in to ask the tough questions, Heath kicked back with his fingers in a triangle position and his heel across his lap.

“Now Heath, I want to start off by addressing with you the harassing ways in which debts are collected. The late night phone calls, the vulgar speech, the contacting of family, friends, and coworkers. By your own admission, these tactics should be illegal, yet debt collection companies get away with this all the time.”

Heath cleared his throat. “Well, you’re right about the fact that these tactics should be illegal. If they came from anybody other than a collector, the police would be called in a heartbeat. But the funny thing is, the harassment doesn’t actually get us our money faster. Then again, neither does the impending lawsuit and the subsequent garnishing of wages. This isn’t about collecting money we’ll never have. It’s politics. It’s all about weeding out the poor and disenfranchised so that they can’t influence our governmental policies. It’s not a conspiracy. This shit’s as real as it gets.”

Aaron, who was drinking a mug of hot coffee during Heath’s answer, spit out his beverage and choked on whatever was left. After wiping his mouth with his expensive sleeve, he said, “Mr. Riggs, I appreciate your honesty during this interview, but I have to ask you not to swear when giving your answers. We’re on live television in over a million homes. Surely, you understand.”

“Of course I do.” Heath grinned like he was onto something. “Wouldn’t want to offend your audience’s precious Christian ears. Wouldn’t want the children to hear any of this shit. Lord knows they might grow up to become free thinkers. We know that can never happen.”

“I’m warning you, Mr. Riggs….”

Taking his sunglasses off and revealing gray mechanical eyes underneath, Heath said, “Don’t worry, Aaron, I got the message loud and clear. You can’t swear on television, but if you do it behind closed doors with an unwilling secretary, it’s A-okay. I’m not just exposing the debt industries secrets, but yours as well. I agreed to do this interview because I want a clear conscience. Fourteen years of debt collecting began to wear on my soul after a while. I figured, as long as I’m here with an alleged sexual harasser, I might as well go the full nine, you know what I’m saying?”

“Cut the camera feed! Cut it now!” demanded Aaron. Without checking to see if his orders were followed, he leaned in closer to Heath’s face and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “I don’t know what kind of stunt you’re trying to pull, but you have no proof and neither do any of my accusers. Those cases were settled a long time ago. Now do you want to discuss debt collection or do you want to keep toying with me?”

“Why can’t he talk about both? It’s not like you two don’t deserve last words,” said a robotic feminine voice from the shadowy background. While Heath remained calm, cool, and collected, Aaron went bug-eyed and his body trembled at the sight of a cyborg assassin holding two severed heads by the hair like they were cheerleader pompoms. As soon as this mysterious woman stepped into the light, headless bodies all around the studio dropped to the ground and soaked the wooden floors in human blood and cyborg oil. A bald black woman with golden earrings and a green metal suit stared her newest victims down with a mischievous grin.

While Aaron curled up in a ball on the edge of pissing himself, the assassin said, “Don’t worry, honey. None of what you or Heath said made it on the airwaves. I made sure of that. It’s probably just as well. Although, if you want to tell your mindless viewers goodbye for one last time, I suppose I could let you do that.”

“Please…I don’t know who you are, but I’ve got a family I need to get home to. Don’t kill me! Please don’t kill me!” quivered Aaron while Heath smiled and shook his head.

“It’s the same old excuse: think of my family so that I don’t have to when I’m trying to take the secretary to pound town. Don’t worry, Aaron, I’ve got this.” Heath cracked his knuckles before getting out of his chair and strutting towards the assassin, who tossed the cameramen’s heads off to the side like they were easily disposable to begin with.

“What are you so cocky about, Mr. Riggs? You’re not making it out alive any more than Hard-On Henry over here. In fact, you’re the reason I came here today,” said the assassin with a grin.

Heath gazed his assailant up and down and whistled. “That’s some expensive hardware you’ve got there. How much did them arm blades set you back? Hundreds? Thousands of dollars? And that metal body? Shit, man, I don’t know how you pay for all that with just a Street Ronin’s salary. If only there was somebody here who knew how to make debt disappear quicker than those cameramen you laid out. Hmm…” Heath stroked his chin as he mockingly pondered this question.

The assassin flipped one of her arm blades and held it underneath Heath’s chin. He didn’t back down from his confident demeanor, but he was all ears for his would-be killer. “When you’re as good as me, money isn’t that hard to come by. I don’t know what kind of lies you’re telling about my client, but these poor suckers don’t go into debt because of politics. They do it because they could never make it in a capitalist meritocracy. That’s my special way of saying they’re fucking lazy.”

“Sure, whatever you say…Harlock!”

Upon hearing the assassin’s name, Aaron slowly lowered his feet to the bloody floor, obviously not caring that much about his designer shoes. “Wait a minute, you know this woman?”

“Not as well as I’d like to, but when you’ve been on the job as long as I have, you learn something about these poor pathetic motherfuckers. The boss man gives you a name, an address, and how much they owe. The rest of the research is up to you, hence why we often resort to calling friends and family to collect the debt. Harlock here doesn’t care about the circumstances of others, which is ironic considering those cyborg parts didn’t come easy in this so-called meritocracy. Besides, if she was really as hot shit as she thinks she is, she wouldn’t have revealed all this information to me. We’d both be dead as fucking fried chicken right now. But as it is…”

“Shut the hell up!” said Harlock as she drew a tiny droplet of blood from Heath’s cheek. He still didn’t budge, only smiled wider as he cleaned the wound off with his finger and licked it.

“Face it, lady,” said Heath. “You don’t want to admit it, but you can see the irony of a debt-burdened assassin working for a debt collection agency. You’re desperate for cash, so you’ll whore your services to anybody who can make shit go away. But the truth is…paying those suckers off ain’t going to solve everything. You would not believe the tricks they pull out of their asses just to keep you paying up. Ever heard of zombie debt? How about fifty percent interest? How about debtor’s prison? They still have that shit.”

Harlock narrowed her bladed eyebrows and dug the weapon deeper into Heath’s skin. He flinched a little bit, but not enough to give away whatever modicum of fear he might have been burdened with. She leaned in and said, “You know nothing about me and my struggles.”

“Exactly! Debt collectors don’t know shit about you, which is why they keep calling your ass in the first place! You could come crying to them with your whole life story and it wouldn’t be enough. They got no heart. They got no soul. If a big ass mega corporation had a heart and soul, they wouldn’t be in business for very long, would they? Capitalism is a bitch.”

Harlock’s eyes slowly lowered to the soggy floor as if Heath’s words got through to her. He took this small window of opportunity to grab her by the arm and swing her blade into her own stomach. While Aaron was in the background this whole time shivering and weeping, Harlock’s mechanical guts spilled all over the ground as she coughed up oil and blood. Heath yanked the blade upwards and split the rest of her upper body in two, bloodying the floor even more than it already was.

“What the hell did you do that for?! She was cooperating!” Aaron screamed.

“Recognizing how badly you’ve fucked up isn’t a Get Out of Jail Free card. In case you hadn’t noticed what’s been going on here the past few seconds, look on the ground. That bitch is beyond redemption. Speaking of which, let’s get them cameras rolling again…”

“No! No cameras! No! I’m done with this!”

“Oh, we’re just getting started, Aaron. We’ve got a lot to discuss. Debt collection and sexual harassment all in one story, although that piss stain on your pants will be bigger ratings boost than anything we talk about.”

Aaron spread his shaky legs to see that there was indeed urine on his groin. “Goddamn it!”

Heath shushed him. “Ah, ah, ah! No swearing! There’re children watching!”

Toll Free Call

VERSE 1

It’s a toll free call in a free country

Please give us all of your hush money

Don’t lawyer up or try anything funny

Or we’ll be Elmer Fudd to your Bugs Bunny

VERSE 2

It’s a toll free call from Synchrony Bank

“Of course!” said a Young Turk named Cenk

Preying on the poor like it’s some kind of war

It’s really getting old, let’s go ahead and snore

VERSE 3

It’s a toll free call from Washington State

The kind that will stimulate your rage and hate

Don’t you wish you could reach through the phone

And snap the robo caller’s pencil neck bone?

VERSE 4

It’s a toll free call from the Russian president

Or a North Korean dictator that hell has sent

Or a Saudi Arabian prince who wants to convince

You to vote against your wishes in words not minced

VERSE 5

Rip the goddamn cable right out of the wall

And never ever get another toll free call

Tell your phone company they can suck a big one

If they want to go to war, then have some bloody fun

Where's My Damn Money?

“This is an attempt to collect a debt and any information obtained will be used for that purpose, you fucking lazy bitch!” said the deep and dark schizophrenic voice in Pia Caine’s mind. The humanoid cat would kneel to the stone floor of her laboratory and clutch her paws over her head. Was this all in her imagination? Was she going crazy? Would she be destined for a trip to Bedlam? The thought of her fuzzy arms locked in a straightjacket brought tears to Pia’s eyes and a quivering in her jaw. She managed to get some spittle and tears on her pink dress, but she wiped them away and tried to pull herself to her feet using one of the many tables in her lab.

Pia convulsed in fear while gazing through teary eyes at the many chemicals and potions scattered across her tables. The fact that she had a surplus of these items and nobody was buying shattered her heart into millions of pieces. She pulled a satchel out of her dress and spilled the few gold coins she had across one of the tables. Baby steps towards paying her debt: that’s all it amounted to. The grating voice in her head had no patience for baby steps. In fact, it blurted out, “Where’s my damn money!” and Pia was jittering on the floor once again.

“Why won’t you leave me alone?!” Pia begged. “I’ll get you your payment! I swear! Just give me some more time!”

“You had all the time in the world and you came up with chump change!” belted the voice once again. Only this time, when Pia lifted her trembling kitty head out of her paws, she saw a slender figure covered in a black robe and hood standing only a few feet away from her. That must have been him: Chetty Claymore, elven necromancer and relentless dunner. He slowly paced towards the spilled coins and scooped them up in his hands while counting at a brisk pace with his elongated finger. “It’s not enough!” he shouted.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Claymore! I really am!” sobbed Pia. She pulled herself to her feet yet again, but almost lost her equilibrium. “Business has been slow lately and…”

After Chetty pocketed the gold coins, his hand glowed with purple energy before he grabbed Pia around the throat and hoisted her high in the air, booted legs kicking and all. “No excuses!” he bellowed. “I saved your life on that battlefield and you repay me with the bare minimum! Unacceptable, you stupid whore!” Chetty threw Pia to the ground and left her coughing violently, even spitting up a little bit of blood.

Once Pia was able to regain her oxygen (albeit with raspy breaths), Chetty leaned down and grabbed her by the nape of her neck so that their eyes could lock on each other. He angrily whispered, “I gave you life and I can take it away. As a necromancer, I’m well within my abilities to do that.”

Without even a modicum of struggle against Chetty’s grip and with trembling in her jaw, Pia asked, “How is that supposed to get you your money? If I’m dead, you’ll have nobody to pay you back.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart,” said Chetty has he tightened his grip and earned a yelp out of his victim. “If I don’t get the money from you and your so-called business…I can always get it from somewhere else. Just because the debtor dies, doesn’t mean the debt goes away. Surely, you have other members of your feline family who are willing to foot the bill for their lazy clan member. Maybe your mother. Maybe your father. Maybe your siblings. No matter where the money comes from...” Chetty leaned closer to make his final point. “I own the Caine family!”

As Chetty Claymore chuckled evilly, Pia pictured her elderly parents at the mercy of this madman. They were just feeble felines who snuggled in bed and rested their old bones next to the fire. And now this deranged elf was going to take full advantage of them. He could slap them. He could punch them. He could even do something involving his genitals. The more Chetty cackled, the louder Pia hissed in response. She took a huge bite out of the necromancer’s nose and the scream-inducing pain forced him to let go.

Pia crab-walked backwards in disbelief at what she had done. As she pulled herself up using the table’s edge, she assessed the damage with wide kitty eyes. Once Chetty pulled his hand away from his nose, he revealed a chunk had been dangling from his face and blood was pouring like a faucet. “I will teach you some respect, you disgusting harlot!” he shouted.

The necromancer raised his pointy hands in the air and summoned more purple energy. From this bright radiation, he shot a skull projectile at Pia, who dove over one of her tables out of the way of the blast. “You can’t hide from me forever!” he roared.

“I don’t need to hide!” sassed Pia. “Stay away from my goddamn family!” She picked up one of her magical potions and tossed it on Chetty’s face. The glass shards combined with the acidic content turned the necromancer’s face into rare hamburger meat. He screeched in agony and threw purple energy skulls blindly around the lab.

The potions exploded into wildfire upon contact with the projectiles. But instead of getting the hell out of her laboratory to safety, Pia used the flames as a metaphor for her anger and leaped into Chetty. She struggled to feed his face to the open flames, but the elf pushed back just as hard.

“You don’t get it, do you?” said Chetty during the struggle. “You think killing me is going to end your debt? I’m just one small part of a bigger agency. If not me, then someone else will come knocking at your door! And another! And another! Or maybe they don’t have to knock at your door. Maybe they can get inside that pretty little head of yours!”

Pia loosened her grip in contemplation of Chetty’s point. This brief opening allowed Chetty to bite down on Pia’s hand and draw enough blood to heighten the flames around her laboratory. The feline chemist ran around while clutching her bloody paw, desperately trying to wrap it up with the length of her pink dress. The harder she pressed, the more she bled. Meanwhile, Chetty’s horrific visage was still able to give off a wicked smile with every tooth showing.

The necromancer stood up and snickered, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have parents to harass and quite possibly have some…fun with!”

The constant snickering sent a firestorm through Pia’s adrenaline system. She didn’t care about the blood in her paw. She didn’t care about the massive debt she supposedly owed. She cared only that this maniac was even considering messing with her family. The many dinners the Caine family had with cherry pies, the snuggle sessions with catnip, and the comfort of living with such warm hearted people gave Pia the motivation necessary to deliver a running drop kick to Chetty, knocking him into the flames.

The necromancer rolled around trying to extinguish the flames that consumed his body, but it was all for naught. One of the pillars in the ceiling above came crashing down on top of him and obliterated his ribcage into bloody pieces. Meanwhile, Pia wrapped her bloody paw once again and scurried for the front exit. The growing flames blocked the doorway along with every window in the lab. She tried several times to walk through fire anyways, but the burning pain and chemical odor from her potions slapped her away every time.

If Pia was going to die in this lab, that would leave her family open to an attack from these asshole debt collectors. They would be defenseless, just like any other family member that inherited the debt after their deaths. The Caine family of kitten chemists would be wiped off the face of the earth and it was all for the sake of ill-gotten money. Money was overrated. Money was the root of all evil. Money wasn’t worth dying over. Pia took a deep breath and dove through the fiery front entrance. The heat singed her fur badly, but after rolling on the cobblestone streets outside, she was able to extinguish the assaulting flames.

There she was, lying in the gutter while her potion lab and her only source of income went up in smoke and flames. Her body ached, her paw bled, and her fur felt like she went swimming at the base of a volcano. And yet, she stood up tall and proud, this time without anything to aid her.

She took some deep breaths and limped away from the burning lab, almost losing her balance, but still standing tall in the end. She willingly knelt down and screamed to the sky, “You want my money?! You want my debt?! Come and get it, you stupid sons of bitches! I’ll take your whole agency down! Nobody fucks with the Caine family! Nobody!”

And then the schizophrenic voices assaulted her mind like a thousand lobotomies. “This is an attempt to collect a debt and any information obtained will be used for that purpose.” The dark voices said this over and over again and all Pia could do was clutch her head with her bloody paw while skeletons in hoods and robes gathered around her. One of them knelt down beside her, grabbed her by the nape of the neck to make eye contact, and said, “We’ll be in touch!” before a snake crawled out of the skeleton’s eye socket.

The skeletons and the snake disappeared in puffs of smoke not unlike the flames surrounding the laboratory. Pia wept a rainfall of tears onto the ground as she realized what she had gotten herself into. With no job, no income, and too much fear to fight against her dunners, the Caine family would succumb to the whims of this horrible agency. Debt collection was a business and business was booming as loudly as the flames in the background. Even so, Pia picked her head up, wiped her tears and blood away, and reluctantly said, “I’ll be ready for you!”

STEAM

***STEAM***

A few weeks ago, I wrote a song for Lunatic Justice called “STEM Sell”, where I argue that having a STEM degree doesn’t necessarily equal happiness despite the job opportunities and abundance of money. In case you don’t know, STEM stands for Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics. The kinds of jobs that come with a STEM degree include medical doctor, mechanic, computer expert, and architect to name a few. As much as liberal arts majors like me hate to admit it, STEM skills are in higher demand than creative ones.

But think of how boring this world would be without art. If everybody had STEM jobs, you can kiss Harry Potter, Pink Floyd, Wonder Woman, and everything else considered fun goodbye. Speaking of Pink Floyd, there’s a scene in The Wall movie where Pink’s math teacher beats him for writing poetry in class instead of doing homework. That scene is based on Roger Waters’s childhood. If he had caved in to the hate and got a “real job” instead of singing in a band…well, you know how this conversation is going to go.

Want another real world example? Jim Carrey gave a college speech about how his father could have been a professional comedian with the sense of humor he had, but instead took a financially safe job as an accountant (the M in STEM). Jim Carrey’s father was laid off from his job, which proves that failure isn’t something only artists experience. Imagine if Jim Carrey took the “safe route” and became an accountant like his dad. Actually, no, don’t imagine that, especially if you’re prone to crying your eyes out.

Ever see the bumper sticker that says “Earth without art is just eh”? Well, every time I hear a STEM student brag about how he’s better than liberal arts majors, I think of that bumper sticker. That same braggadocios student is probably wiping his tears away with those hundred dollar bills. That’s not to say STEM doesn’t have a place in modern society, but it shouldn’t be the only thing we have available jobs for. We need to find a balance between happiness and financial stability.

All you have to do is stick an A (Art) in between the E and the M and you’ve got STEAM. Think of all the creative fields out there and how they’re interconnected with STEM. The music industry is a prime example of this. Of course, the creative side comes from the songwriting and performances. But if you want to put together an album or put on an elaborate concert, you have to have a fairly extensive knowledge of the equipment involved. Rammstein concerts are fun as fuck, but without sound engineers, lightning designers, and pyrotechnicians, I don’t care how good they are as musicians, because their concert will sound like shit without those essential crew members.

The movie industry has STEAM applications as well. Sure, there’s the acting, screenwriting, directing, makeup art, and all of that. But you still need a STEM guy to know how to work the camera, create special effects, edit the film reels, and engineer the sound effects.

Take any creative endeavor and it will have connections to STEAM no matter how much someone argues otherwise. And since I’m an author, I might as well throw my personal experience into the mix. My job is to put words onto the screen and edit the final product so that it’s nice and polished for publication. If you plan on publishing, you have to have an extensive knowledge of economics (math), computer skills (technology), audience psychology (science), and…help me out here, I’m trying to think of an engineering example. Or perhaps your STEM experience can reveal itself in your actual manuscript. Maybe you’re writing a spy novel where someone has to use explosives (technology). Maybe you’re doing a combat scene and have to diagnose the traumas of each fighter (science).

STEM jobs and artistic jobs both require a great deal of dedication and hard work in order to succeed. Failure is a part of both sides of the spectrum and being able to dust yourself off and get back up is the true test of success, not money or college experience. I’ve experienced my fair share of failures in my career. I’ve had two-star reviews, angry criticisms, and plenty of doubters who simply thought I sucked.

I could go with the safe route and be a computer specialist, but would I experience the same amount of joy as I do when I create a story or poem out of thin air? Hell no. STEM jobs are important and highly abundant, but there’s more to life than changing oil in somebody’s car. If you’re a STEM employee and you’re happy with life, good for you. But that’s no excuse to put down liberal arts majors when you’re just as capable of failure as they are. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***POISON TONGUE TALES 2: THE RIGHT TO REMAIN PSYCHOTIC***

It’s a new week at the WSS and it’s time for a new story. This time we’re dealing with Baby Steps as the major theme. What better way to conform to that prompt than by writing a story called “Where’s My Damn Money?” What else am I going to call it? Here’s how it goes:

CHARACTERS:

1. Chetty Claymore, Elf Necromancer
2. Pia Caine, Cat Wizard

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Pia’s small payments against her debt are considered baby steps toward the larger goal of being financially free.

SYNOPSIS: When wandering mage Pia is wounded in battle, Chetty saves her life in return for a whopping amount of money. A year has passed since these events and Pia is no closer to paying off her crushing debt. One night while concocting a potion in her lab, she is visited by the impatient Chetty, who threatens to kill her and the ones she loves if she doesn’t pay what he’s owed. Pia believes she can simply fight her way out of debt, but Chetty is part of a much larger organization of debt collectors and even if she wins, he won’t be her last opponent. Chetty also reveals that Pia’s personal information has been shared with her attacker from one year ago.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Earlier tonight, I posted my non-WSS story called “Lionize” and Andrea Lovell, the CEO from that story, is next on the chopping block. Andrea was originally a character conceived by my old D&D friend Heather when the two of us would do private role-plays together on MSN Instant Messenger. She’s usually cool with me using her RPG characters in my stories, but if she isn’t this time around, then I’ll happy use someone else. I think she’ll be happy with what I come up for her as a drawing.

***FACE BOOK POST OF THE DAY***

WWU stands for World Wrestling University and WWE stands for Western Washington Entertainment. Both acronyms are said the Michael Cole way, which is by pronouncing them with extra emphasis on the W’s. Wait a minute, something’s not right here.

Hero

VERSE 1

Screaming into a phone doesn’t make you a hero

Saying otherwise means your IQ is a solid zero

Any coward can offend from miles away

Any moron can change his face and name

But in order to have a solid steel spinal cord

You’ve got to be prepared for a fistfight war

You hide behind lawyers and sympathetic judges

And wonder why the public holds violent grudges

CHORUS 1

I see no bravery among you criminals

Your valor is at the very best minimal

Lock your asses up and throw away the key

Even heroes know when it’s time to flee

VERSE 2

Blasting a sound cannon at a crowd of protesters

Ensures your status as the corporate protectors

You represent the evil you’re trying to fight

You make the streets dangerous to walk at night

The irony is killing me like a rubber bullet

We’re buried underneath mountains of bullshit

Karma is a bitch and she’ll smack you like a pimp

Until your Burger King body is broken and limp

CHORUS 1

I see no bravery among you criminals

Your valor is at the very best minimal

Lock your asses up and throw away the key

Even heroes know when it’s time to flee

VERSE 3

It’s the same old shit, but on a different day

The power hungry don’t know when to pay

They don’t know when to shut their mouths

They hide from justice like a frightened mouse

Prison is a bitch and so are you, my friend

You’ll one day know what it’s like to bend

If it takes forever, we’ll fight forever

We’ll bring the thunder and stormy weather

CHORUS 2

I see no bravery among you thieves

I see no end for the ones who greave

You steal life like a home invader

And turn the innocent into gladiators

You want a battle? Here’s a war

Justice and honor are what we fight for

We don’t need machineguns and tanks

To our strongest voices, we give our thanks